


Happy Birthday, Dean

by castlequill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, Some angst, Supernatural - Freeform, Weechesters, basically just sam and dean's childhood and brotherly bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castlequill/pseuds/castlequill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's out hunting again, Sam's been acting like a brat lately, and Dean doesn't expect anything for his seventeenth birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, Dean

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note: I’m not a fan of John Winchester, and though I avoided character bashing, this is not the most sympathetic portrayal of him. He doesn’t actually appear in the story, he is mentioned quite a bit. I believe that his actions are in line with how he’s portrayed in canon. Even so, if you’re a John fan, this may not be the story for you.

Dean didn't say it out loud – not when Dad was around, at least, which wasn't often – but Sam had turned into a brat since Dean had been gone.

Don't get him wrong – he loved the kid to death, and there wasn't a single thing he wouldn't do for his little bro. But he couldn't help thinking it.

Dean had stayed at the boys' home for about two months after getting busted for shoplifting. Sam had apparently been staying with Bobby that whole time, which was pretty much what Dean had expected to happen. Actually, that had been the whole reason why Dean had actually stayed at the home, instead of running away to go track down his brother. He'd known that Dad wasn't about to take a twelve-year-old on a hunt, and there wasn't anyone else that Dad would trust to take care of Sam, besides Dean and Bobby.

And Sam had had an awesome time, too, just like Dean had figured that he would. Bobby's house was pretty much Sam's favorite place in the world. Except Sam didn't let any of them forget it.

It started about two days after Dean had left the boys' home. They'd finally arrived in Missouri, which was where Dad was going to be hunting a coven of witches that'd been getting up to some freaky shit lately. Dean stretched his arms above his head as they walked into the motel room, and immediately pulled off his shirt, not even bothering to undue the buttons before he ripped it off. They'd had to drive nonstop to get here from Washington in just a couple days, meaning that Dean hadn't even had the chance to change out of the dress shirt he'd been wearing to go to that dance with Robin. By now, he was itching to change into one of his tee shirts.

Sam had fallen over onto one of the beds and was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He was still holding that airplane toy of his. Dean had never seen it before, so he figured Bobby must've gotten it for him, and Dean was pretty sure that Sam hadn't let go of it once. It was just the two of them in the motel – Dad had taken off the moment that they'd managed to drag all the bags out of the Impala, after tossing Dean a few hundreds and telling him in no uncertain words what the consequences would be if Dean lost this money, too.

Yeah, there was no way that Dean was going to take that chance again.

"Come on," Dean said, as soon as he'd gotten changed out of those clothes. He balled them up and stuck them in the far corner of his duffel, where hopefully they wouldn't make the rest of his stuff start to stink. They'd probably get wrinkled and ruined, but then, it didn't exactly matter, did it? It wasn't like he'd ever have to wear it again. "Don't you want to tell me how much you missed me?"

Sam had grinned at Dean when he'd first slipped into the car, but Dean was pretty sure that Sam hadn't said a word the whole time that they'd been driving, except to grumble his order when Dad stopped off at McDonalds for pretty much ever meal. Dean hadn't said anything about it. Dad had been practically fuming in the front seat, and Dean figured it was better to keep quiet and not set him off. Now, though, what Dean really wanted was to spend some time with his brother.

"'Course I did," Sam said. He didn't move his head at all, didn’t even glance over at Dean. He just kept staring up at the ceiling, his arms crossed and the airplane dangling from his fingertips. “You should’ve stayed with me at Bobby’s instead of going off hunting.”

Huh. So that’s what Sam had been told. Not that Dean had expected Sam to know that he’d gotten arrested, but still, he’d been wondering what the exact story was.

For a single second, Dean was tempted to tell Sam the truth. That way, Sam would know that Dean hadn’t left him on purpose, and that he’d left that place the first chance he could. He wanted Sam to know that he’d skipped out on that school dance – not that he’d wanted to go to that stupid thing in the first place, really – because he wanted to get back to Sam.

Of course, Dean wasn’t stupid enough to actually say anything about that. Sam would let it slip to Dad that Dean had told him, and then there’d be hell to pay. So Dean just shrugged. “Not my choice,” he said, heading over to sit on the edge of the bed, next to Sam. “Trust me, if I would’ve stayed with you if I could’ve.”

Sam just nodded and didn’t say anything. Then, after a minute, he turned to look at Dean for the first time since they’d gotten this room. “Why couldn’t we stay with Bobby, though?” he asked. “I mean, all the time.”

“What, you want us to just leave Dad?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged and looked away. “It’s not like Dad’s ever here,” he mumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Dean to hear him.

“He’s out saving people, remember?” Dean said firmly. “He comes home when he can, but that’s more important.”

Sam pushed himself up so that he was sitting and looking at Dean again. “Yeah, but if he’s not going to see us, why does he care where we’re at? We could just stay with Bobby forever, and we wouldn’t have to drive around like this.”

“Bobby’s not our dad,” Dean snapped, his voice coming out sharper than what he’d meant. “We can’t just move in with him. He already does enough for us.” And if there was one thing that Dean had learned from their dad (besides the whole monster-hunting thing), it was that you repaid your debts, and you didn’t rely on anyone but yourself to do it. They weren’t about to ask Bobby to do anything for them, even if they’d wanted to.

“But he said it’s okay,” Sam said, his voice getting louder now, like he was getting himself all worked up. “He said that Dad can bring us there any time he wants, for as long as he wants, even if it’s for months!”

Dean took a deep breath, because the last thing he wanted to do was snap at his brother again. After a couple seconds, he made himself smile. “So, you had a good time, then?” he asked, and nudged Sam in the arm. “You weren’t bored, stuck over there without me?”

“No.” Sam’s voice had quieted down, but he was back to sulking now, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. “No, it was the best months ever,” he said. His eyes dropped to the toy plane, which he was still turning over in his hands, and he added, “I wish I’d never had to leave.”

Dean swallowed hard, and didn’t let the smile fall from his face. “Well, I guess you’re stuck with me,” he said, making sure to keep his voice light. He wrapped one arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling his brother into a one-armed hug. Which, honestly, he’d wanted to do ever since he’d first seen Sam leaning out the car window back at the home, he just hadn’t gotten the chance before now.

Sam didn’t say anything. A moment passed. Dean let go, and Sam got to his feet. “I’m going to get ready for bed,” he grumbled, then grabbed his duffel and dragged it to the bathroom. He still had the plane in one hand.

Dean really should get ready for bed, too. He hadn’t gotten much sleep over the past two days. He and Dad had alternated, with Dean driving while Dad slept, and vice versa. Even so, Dean hadn’t actually managed to sleep much when it was his turn to. He’d spent the past two days tossing and turning in the passenger seat, which hadn’t exactly been comfortable. He should jump at the chance to actually grab some real rest.

A couple minutes later, Sam came out of the bathroom. He crawled into his own bed without even glancing at Dean, and pulled the covers up over his head immediately. Dean sighed and double checked that everything was locked up, that the demon-prevention sigils were in place, that his gun was close enough to his bed that he could grab it instantly. Then he dropped onto his own bed, not bothering to crawl under the blankets or brush his teeth first.

It was a long time before he could turn off his thoughts and go to sleep, though.

( )

A few weeks later, Dad wanted to get rid of the toy. "Stuff like that only gets in the way," was the way he phrased it. 

Dean had nodded – he knew the drill. No unnecessary belongings, nothing that could take up space that could be used for packing clothes or weapons. Dean was used to it, and anyway, it didn't matter. The only thing that he wanted to hang onto was the amulet that Sam had given him, and that was easy to take with him, considering he never took it off. Sam's plane, though, was a different story. It was bulky, and it barely fit into Sam's duffel – Sam kept having to yank hard on the two sides to get them zip, and half the time, it still wouldn't close more than halfway. Something had to go in order to make it all fit, and in Dad's mind, the choice was obvious.

It wasn’t just that, though. Dean knew that it had a lot more to do with the fact that Dad didn’t like them to keep toys or stuff like that in the first place. You couldn’t be a kid if you were gonna be a hunter. Dean had pretty much stopped being a kid back when he was four, after the fire, and Dad had been hinting for a while that it was time for Sam to do the same.

And it made sense. Dean had been killing monsters since he was thirteen, only a little older than Sam was now. And even though there was no way that Sam was going on a hunt that early – Dean thought that he’d actually fight his dad on that one if he tried to force Sam to hunt before he was at least a few years older – Dad was right, this was a hard life. You had to toughen up, or you didn’t survive. And Dean was going to make sure that Sammy made it, no matter what.

Sam had sulked for a whole week after Dad had first suggested throwing out the toy. For a few days, he tried carrying it everywhere he went, so that he wouldn't have to put it in his bag. That didn't exactly go over well with Dad. And Sam kept giving Dean these looks, like he was waiting for him to say something, to make Dad let Sam keep it. In the end, though, Sam had dumped it in the trash can at the motel they were leaving, then ran out to the Impala, head down, not looking at anyone. Dad had followed after, leaving Dean to grab his and Sam's duffels. Sam's was gaping open. Dean grabbed the zipper. It closed easily now.

It took three days before Dad left on another case, leaving Dean and Sam alone in a different motel on the other side of the country. And in that time, Sam hadn't said a single word to Dad. Or Dean. He had even been refusing to order anything, meaning that it was up to Dean to decide what to get him, and then to pretty much shove the food into his hands. Dean grumbled under his breath the whole time, stuff about how Sam should just give up the hunger strike before it got even stupider than it already was. Sam always glared at him when he said anything like that, but he did eat whatever Dean handed him.

Then Dad left, and Dean and Sam were alone in the motel. That’s when Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Sammy?”

“Not Sammy,” Sam grumbled. Oh, yeah, he’d been getting pissy about the nickname recently. He was already saying that it was too babyish, that he wanted to be called Sam and nothing else. Big words coming from a kid still barely in middle school.

Dean decided to just ignore what his brother had said. Instead, he just grinned. “I’ve got something for you.” He grabbed his duffel from where he’d shoved it under the bed, digging through it for a moment until he found what he was looking for, carefully buried under one of his jackets. He pulled out the toy plane and tossed it over to Sam’s bed.

Sam’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed it quickly. “You saved it.”

“Yup,” Dean confirmed with a grin. And it was weird, because he’d saved dozens of lives at least, but he swore he never felt more like a hero than he did right then.

Dean knew he wasn’t supposed to go behind Dad’s back like this. But, well, Dad hadn’t seen it. And anyway, Dean already had a million gray shirts – losing one hadn’t made a difference. And once that shirt was in the trash, there had been enough room that he could sneak the plane into his own bag and still manage to get the zipper closed all the way.

You had to be tough if you wanted to hunt, but Dean figured that Sammy still had a couple of years before he had to get to that point.

“Just don’t let Dad see,” Dean added, just in case Sam needed a reminder.

And just like that, any excitement that Sam had over getting the toy back vanished. “It’s not fair,” he complained. “Why’d he have to take it away from me in the first place?”

“Dad has his reasons,” Dean said. He thought about trying to explain more, but Sam didn’t look like he was in the mood to hear it. He was scowling and crossing his arms the way he had all week, like even getting the toy back wasn’t enough to cheer him up and calm him down. So instead, Dean just said, “Come on, you’ve got it back now. Isn’t that good enough?”

Sam shook his head firmly, and he had that stubborn set to his shoulders. Dean had figured out a long time ago that when Sam looked like that, there was absolutely no changing his mind. Sam said, “He shouldn’t have made me get rid of it.”

Then he said, “You should’ve stopped him.”

For a second, Dean didn’t say anything. Then, “Come on, you think I can change Dad’s mind about anything once he’s decided?”

Sam was quiet – even he couldn’t pretend that Dean had any power to do that, even when he was being all bratty and looking for someone to blame. Dad did what he did, Dean wasn’t going to change that. Hell, even Sam couldn’t change Dad’s mind, and the kid was stubborn as all get out, and the baby of the family to boot. If Dad was going to give in to anyone, it’d be Sammy. If Sam had failed, then Dean would never stand a chance.

“You could’ve tried, though,” Sam said. “You could’ve been on my side.”

“I’m always on your side,” Dean said immediately. He meant it, too. Okay, sure, he might not have said anything to Dad when he and Sam were fighting, but that was only because he knew it was pointless. But the important stuff? Dean was on Sam’s side. Always. There wasn’t one single thing that he wouldn’t do for his brother.

But Sam just looked away. “Doesn’t seem like it,” he grumbled. “All you ever do is talk about how great Dad is, and how he’s a big hero. You agree with everything he does.”

“Sammy-” Dean began.

Sam didn’t respond. He’d already jumped off the bed, and was heading for the bathroom. That was the new thing he did. He’d told Dean about twenty times about how he’d gotten his own room when he’d been at frickin’ Bobby’s house. They never got more than one motel room, though, meaning that there was pretty much no privacy, ever. And apparently Sam had a problem with that, so he’d taken to hiding in the bathroom whenever he got upset, since it was the only place where he could lock the door behind him. A lot of days he’d take his books in there, when they had books to read, and he wouldn’t come out until Dad or Dean started pounding on the door.

“Sammy-” Dean repeated, and also jumped to his feet, though he didn’t make any move to go after his brother. He knew that Sam wouldn’t want him to.

Sam paused in the doorway, his back to Dean, not moving for a long moment. Then, slowly, he turned around.

“My name’s Sam,” he said.

The door slammed shut.

( )

"Dean," Sam said.

"Shhh," Dean shushed him instinctively, and used the rearview mirror to check on their dad. It was about two in the morning, and John was stretched out on the backseat of the Impala, his heavy coat tucked beneath his head like a pillow. He was even snoring. Dean got the feeling that he and Sam weren't going to be waking him up any time soon.

Even so, Dean kept his voice low as he asked, "What do you want? Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"

Sam squirmed slightly. "The passenger seat isn't comfortable," he complained.

Yeah, well, Dean couldn't exactly argue with that. "Just lean your head against the window," he suggested. That was the only marginally comfortable way to sleep when you were riding shotgun. But Sam just shook his head, and Dean added, "Come on, you've slept like this before."

"And I always get a crick in my neck when I do," he whispered back, then added, "And anyway, I'm not tired."

Dean checked the time again. "Well, good news is that it's only for a couple more hours. Then you can move to the backseat." Four o'clock was when Dad was going to take another shift driving. Usually, one of them drove while the other one rested in the back (which was the only halfway-comfortable place to stretch out and sleep), while Sam had the passenger seat all night. Dean could give up a turn, though, to let Sam get a couple hours of sleep where he was actually comfortable.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled.

The silence stretched between them, long enough that Dean assumed that Sam and actually fallen asleep, after all. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, wondering if he could stop off to buy a cup of coffee without waking his dad up. He was starting to think that he wouldn't make it to the end of his shift unless he got some sort of caffeine in him soon.

"Dean," Sam said suddenly, still keeping his voice to barely above a whisper. "You don't have your license, right?"

Dean took his eyes off the road just long enough to grin at his brother. "Sure I do, Sam," he said, and dug around in the pocket of his jeans until he found it and pulled it out. "Look at this. Ronald Zeswick is totally legal to drive."

Sam rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I mean, you don't have your own license, right? You never passed the tests or anything?"

"Nope," Dean said simply. "Didn't need to." Dad had taken him out to teach him how to drive when Dean was fourteen, and given him his first fake license for his fifteenth birthday. After that, well, getting an actual license wasn't such a big deal. Especially since they never used their real names, anyway.

"Why?" Dean asked, sending another glance toward Sam. "You thinking about learning?"

Sam shook his head, then paused and reconsidered. "Well, maybe," he said. "I mean, driving would at least be better than riding."

"I'll take you out next time I get the chance, show you a couple of things," Dean promised. Sam was still a few years away from being able to drive for real, and it'd be even longer until he could pass for sixteen and get his own fake license. Still, it wouldn't hurt anything to let him do a couple of laps around a parking lot, as long as he didn't crash into anything. "We might want to wait 'til spring, though," Dean added after a moment of thought. He didn't want Sam's first ever illegal drive to happen on ice.

Sam nodded, and even flashed a smile for a moment. Then it fell away, and he asked, "But why are you driving if you're not allowed to?"

Dean snorted. "What, you don't trust my driving?"

"It's not like I think you're going to crash or anything," Sam said. "It's just, back when you weren't driving, we had to stop a lot more."

"Well, duh," Dean said. Dad hadn't had anyone to alternate with, so he'd had no choice but to get them a motel when he needed to crash – Dad never made them sleep in the car when they weren't driving. "That's why he gave me my license a year early. We cover a lot more ground with two of us."

"I know," Sam said, and from the tone of his voice, this was exactly what he had a problem with. "The motels are crappy, but at least they've got actual beds in them."

Dean shrugged, not sure exactly what to say that wouldn't lead to Sam getting upset again. Lately, it'd seemed like Sam spent ever waking minute completely pissed off about everything, and the last thing Dean wanted to do was set him off. "I guess that's just the hardship of growing up."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I liked it a lot better when you weren't driving. Like when Dad and I came down to get you in Washington after he'd picked me up from Bobby's. We had to stop twice on the way there so Dad could sleep, instead of doing it in one go."

Again with Bobby's house.

It had been over two months since Dean had gotten back from the boys' home, and Sam was still talking about his time at frickin' Bobby's house.

"Think about it this way," Dean said. "A couple years from now, you're going to have to take a shift driving. Trust me, you're going to miss the days that you got to sleep all night."

He reached out to ruffle Sam's hair. Sam ducked away, raising his own hand to block Dean's before Dean could touch him. That was another thing that Sam had been doing. Withdrawing, not letting anyone touch him. Last night, Dean had tried to high five him after Sam had won their card game, and Sam had just looked away until Dean had dropped his hand. Just like Dean drew his hand back now.

"Go to sleep," he said, being careful to keep his eyes firmly on the road. He didn't have to look over at the passenger seat to know that Sam hadn't listened, but Sam didn't say anything, either. They both just let the silence hang.

( )

It was the toward the end of January, about three months since he’d gotten back from the boys’ home, when Dean finally snapped.

Dad was out taking care of some cult thing. He hadn’t bothered to fill Dean in on all the details, so all Dean knew was that the cult was planning on summoning some big name goddess, this was a huge deal, and Dad didn’t expect to be home for at least a month.

That was why Dean and Sam were walking “home” from school together. Dad had decided that he didn’t want to get the two of them involved with this case, meaning that this was a good time for them to actually enroll in a school. They didn’t bother to do that at most of the places they stayed – generally, Dean just tutored Sam as best he could, and they all called it good. But Dad did try to get them into an actual school for at least a few months out of the year, so here they were, stuck in some small town with a name so stupid that Dean couldn’t even remember it.

There was absolutely nothing here, which was exactly why Dad had picked it. He’d wanted a place where Dean and Sam wouldn’t be bothered, so all he’d done was drive until he’d found a town with schools that were close enough to a motel that Sam and Dean could walk home, and then he’d taken off. It was boring as all get out – definitely not Dean’s type of place. He’d thought that Sam would like it, though.

Apparently he’d been wrong about that.

“All I’m saying,” Sam said, for probably the dozenth time already, and it was only day two, “is that if we’re going to just be sitting around, we might as well stay at Bobby’s place.”

“Ah, come on,” Dean said. “We’re staying in the same school for a month. That’s gotta be good enough for you.”

“I was in school near Bobby’s place for almost two months last fall,” Sam said. “I made friends there. Why can’t we go back?”

“Because we can’t,” Dean said. He’d never meant for his voice to come out that harsh. And he definitely didn’t mean to keep talking.

But for two months straight, it had been “Bobby’s house” this and “Bobby’s house” that. And Dean was completely, totally, fucking sick of it.

“We drive around, we save people, we leave. That’s life, Sam. The sooner you learn to deal with it, the better,” Dean snapped.

Sam scowled. “You sound like Dad.”

“Good,” Dean said. “Because Dad’s right about this. About all of this. This is how we gotta live. Get over it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s easy for you,” Sam snapped back. “You love this stuff, probably more than Dad does. You don’t know what it’s like to get dragged around doing something you hate.”

“You think I always want to do this?” Dean demanded. 

“’Course you do,” Sam said. “You and Dad want to be the big heroes. Well, I don’t.” He scowled down at the sidewalk and kicked a hunk of ice, sending it skittering out into the road.

“Yeah, right,” Dean said. “Because I always wanted to hop from motel to motel. Because I’m cool with having to drive all night when I’m exhausted out of my mind. Because why would I ever want to go to a frickin’ high school dance, anyway?”

Sam frowned, looking confused now. “Dean,” he said, tilting his head and looking up at his brother. “What are you-?”

Dean didn’t pay him any attention. “You know why I do this, Sammy? Because I’m a good son, that’s why. Because Dad’s out there saving people, and hell yes I’m going to do the same. I know how to fight this crap. I’m not going to let people die when I could save them, even if I got the chance to do something else.”

Sonny had offered to let him stay. Dean thought about that a lot more than he ever let on.

He could’ve stayed, and kept working the grounds, and taken more guitar lessons. And probably kissed Robin some more. And even gone to that stupid school dance she’d invited him to, and danced together under the cheesy streamers and balloons, and it would’ve been the dumbest thing in the world and honestly, he would have kind of loved it.

He would never let Dad know that he had honestly thought about staying. God, even thinking about it made him feel guilty as hell. But, well, he’d been tempted.

He hadn’t stayed, though. ‘Course he hadn’t. He wasn’t about to leave Sammy.

“And you know what else?” Dean snapped. “I know that you’d rather stay with Bobby, and you’re not gonna let me forget it. But you know what? I’m all you’ve got. So sorry, but I guess you’ll just have to get used to the fact that you’re stuck with me.”

They were almost at the motel now. Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Sam. “Here,” he muttered, and didn’t even wait to make sure that his brother caught them before he turned and jogged off.

“Dean!” he heard Sam call from behind him, but he didn’t stop, or turn around to look.

He didn’t go far. He turned one corner and then stopped, crouching down and covering his face with his hands.

He shouldn’t have said all that crap to Sammy. Already he could feel the guilt gnawing inside him, like his own words were eating him up inside. Wasn’t he the one who always said that he wanted Sam to be a kid for as long as he could be? Sam didn’t need Dean taking all this shit out on him.

Dean had meant it, though. There was no way he would’ve said it if he hadn’t gotten so worked up, but that didn’t mean that it hadn’t been the truth. And honestly? That’s what made him feel worse than anything.

He didn’t stay outside for that long. Part of that was because it was frickin’ January, and way too cold to just sit around outside. But also, he knew better than to leave Sammy alone in the motel room for long.

Sam was sitting at the table, flipping through one of his schoolbooks. He didn’t look up.

Dean slowly closed the door behind him, then cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. He flipped to the next page in his book, and after watching his brother for a few moments more, Dean finally turned away.

( )

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said as soon as he came out of his school a couple days later. “I’m going to go home with a friend, okay? I’ll join you at the motel in a little bit.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Yeah, sure,” he said, and shrugged. “Have fun, then.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, and ran off without another word.

Dean figured he should do the responsible thing and go meet up with this friend before letting Sam go off on his own. Dean didn’t really feel like going after his brother, and having to go talk people and act like everything was awesome. So instead, Dean just turned away and headed back to the motel.

He made one stop along the way, though.

Dad would kill Dean if he knew about this, Dean thought as he left the shady party store with a brown paper bag in his hand. Dad didn’t have a problem with Dean drinking – hell, ninety percent of the time he was the one giving Dean a beer. But he made it clear that Dean wasn’t allowed to get in trouble with the cops again, and getting caught trying to buy beer with a fake ID was probably the worst thing Dean could do. But the stoner clerk at this rundown store obviously didn’t care that Dean didn’t even look close to twenty-one, so that wasn’t an issue.

And Dean wasn’t allowed to drink when he was watching over Sam, but that wasn’t an issue either, because Sam wasn’t here right now. He was with his friend.

Of course Sam had already made a friend. And of course he’d rather go off with this new friend instead of spending the day with Dean.

Honestly, any other time, Dean would be happy for the kid. Lord knows that Sam didn’t exactly get to make friends that often, and he should enjoy it while he could. Dean got that, he really did.

But it had been two days since Dean had snapped, and things had been weird ever since. Or, maybe not weird, actually. The two of them didn’t talk much, Sam seemed like he was avoiding Dean half the time, and Dean had to turn the volume of the TV all the way to cover up the awkward silence. So, yeah, that was pretty typical, actually.

Dean threw his backpack onto the bed and flopped down in the chair over to the side of the room. He leaned his chair back and kicked his feet up onto the table in front of him, then pulled out one of the beers from the six pack he’d bought.

Dean hadn’t expected anything to happen today. He was sure that Dad was too busy to call, and it wasn’t like Dean wanted them to throw him a party or anything. But he had hoped Sam would at least remember that today was his birthday.

Dean took a long swig of his beer and didn’t think about that.

He was just starting on beer number two when the door opened. Dean immediately reached for the knife he had hidden in his pocket – okay, maybe he was just a little paranoid – but it was only Sam. Sam slipped in through the door and slowly shut the door behind him, glancing over at Dean almost hesitantly. He had a plastic bag in one hand.

“Here,” he said, then walked over and set the bag in front of Dean. “I asked Bill’s mom if she could take us to the store so I could get this. I didn’t say anything that’d make her think that Dad’s not here,” Sam said quickly. “I just told her that I wanted to do something nice for you. ‘Cause I do.”

Dean swung his legs off the table and leaned forward to check out the bag. Inside was a blueberry pie. It was marked as half off, meaning that it was probably an old one that didn’t sell, but who cared? It was still pie.

“Happy birthday,” Sam said. He bit his lip, then added, “Also, I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t care about you or something.”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

Sam shrugged and looked away. “That stuff you said a couple days ago. I just wanna let you know that I’m not stuck with you. I-” He shrugged again, like he wasn’t sure what to say, then added, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Dean’s throat felt tight, his eyes were getting wet, except if anyone asked he’d swear up and down that that wasn’t true, because there was no way that he was about to cry like a little sissy. He cleared his throat to make sure his voice stayed steady. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam glanced back over at Dean with a smile, but he still looked a little nervous. “So, we’re okay?” he asked. “You’re not mad at me?”

“’Course I’m not,” Dean said, and moved to ruffle Sam’s hair without really thinking about it. The second he did it, he realized that that was a completely stupid idea. Sam had made it clear that he didn’t want Dean to do that anymore, and the last thing he needed was to upset Sam again now that they were just starting to make up.

Sam didn’t move away, though. If anything, Dean would’ve sworn that Sam’s smile widened just a little, even though he was rolling his eyes.

“Good,” he said, then stepped forward to wrap his arms around Dean. The hug couldn’t have lasted for more than a couple of seconds, and then Sam was stepping back, looking a little embarrassed. But honestly? Dean thought that he might like this gift more than he liked the pie.

Dean was almost tempted to say something about how much he’d missed Sam – because even though they’d been together every day since Dean had gotten back from the boys’ home, it still hadn’t felt like they were really together. Except there was only so much emotional shit they could say before it started to turn completely pathetic, and Dean was pretty sure that they’d crossed that line already.

Instead, Dean grinned. “Just so you know, I hope you’re not in the mood for pie, because there’s no way that I’m sharing.”

Sam pretended to scowl, but Dean could see that he was fighting a smile. “No fair,” he said. “I was the one who bought it for you!”

Dean shrugged. “Sorry, Sam,” he said. “This is my birthday pie, remember? Meaning that it’s just for me. Should’ve bought a second one if you wanted to have any.”

“Bitch,” Sam said.

“Seriously?” Dean asked. “You better not let Dad hear you say that.”

Sam snorted. “Like I haven’t heard you and Dad say way worse things,” he said, then added, “You better share, or else I’m telling Dad about exactly how many swear words you taught me.”

“I thought you just said that Dad wouldn't care about that?” Dean said, and honestly, Sam was probably right. Dad had made it a rule that Dean wasn’t supposed to swear in front of Sam, but considering how often Dad was the one to break it, Dean knew that it wasn’t going to be enforced any time soon.

“Fine,” Sam said. “Then I’ll tell Dad that you ruined his good knife because you were trying to see if you could throw it into the wall and make it stick.”

That threat made Dean narrow his eyes. So far, Dad hadn’t seemed to realize that the knife was gone, and Dean hoped that by the time he realized, enough time would have passed that Dean could deny knowing anything about it. (And in his defense, the movies had made it seem like that would work.) “You know what, you're the one who's the bitch,” Dean said.

Sam just laughed. "Jerk," he said, and stuck out his tongue.

Dean did end up cutting Sam a slice of the pie, one so big it almost didn’t fit on the plate. The two of them settled down on the couch, flipping through the channels until they’d found a show that Sam insisted on watching. It was some cheesy made-for-TV movie about a guy that needed some lifesaving operation, and Dean had decided that he was never going to stop making fun of Sam for actually wanting to watch this.

(It was better than it looked, though. And Dean was kinda interested in seeing how it would all turn out, even if he’d never admit it out loud.)

Dean glanced over at Sam as the credits began to roll. Sam had started to nod off about halfway through the movie, and now he was fast asleep, his cheek pressed against Dean’s shoulder. Dean smiled slightly, then snorted at how much of a mess Sam was, with crumbs scattered on the couch around him and a small smear of pie filling staining the front of his shirt. Sammy might want to act like he was all grown up most of the time, but right then, he looked younger than Dean had seen him look in a long time.

Dean carefully wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulders, trying to subtly nudge his brother so that he was lying in a more comfortable position. Dean figured that sleeping like this couldn’t be good for his neck. Sam was going to wake up with cricks in his neck if he stayed like this for long.

Dean figured that he should get up pretty soon and carry Sam to bed. With a bit of luck, he’d get Sam comfortable without having to wake him up. Then Dean could get to work cleaning up the mess that the two of them had made on the couch before heading to bed himself.

Dean wasn’t quite ready to do that, though. For the first time in months, Dean really felt like he had his brother back, and right then, all Dean really felt like doing was holding on.

All in all, he had to admit that this had been a pretty good birthday.


End file.
